In-Between
by GeorgyannWayson
Summary: What if Harry wasn't the only person that had a conversation with Dumbledore after Avada Kedavra was cast?


_This is my first Harry Potter story and oh, boy, am I nervous about this. Please enjoy!_

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**In-Between**

His eyes snapped open and he was astonished at the utter darkness that met him. Blinking, he listened hard for something, anything that may have resembled a noise, wondering whether or not he should even try to move. But as the silence pressed against his eardrums, he grew increasingly more curious and slowly sat up and looked around. Thankfully, his eyes were adjusting to the darkness with each passing second that he sat there. What to make of such a place? And how had he even gotten here in the first place?

Immediately, his mind began to replay his most recent memory. He cast the spell. It couldn't have failed, Potter hadn't even bothered to defend himself from it-

Before he could think about stopping it, Voldemort felt his lips curl into a malicious smile. His sense of time, space and direction disappeared from his mind as a swell of pride surged through him, overpowering any mere sense of curiosity.

_Potter is dead_, he thought to himself with a sense of glee. His heart raced, his breathing became erratic as the fact slowly sank in, his mind rehashing repeatedly the exact moment that the spell hit. The silence of the room was broken by an almost jolly laugh. _Yes! YES!_ _It really did happen! Harry Potter is **dead**!_

After almost two decades of waiting for his chance, it came and he had won. But if Voldemort had been honest with himself, he hadn't exactly dwelled on what he would do in the light of the aftermath of killing Potter. It was almost as if the whole event had simply snuck up on him. _Well,_ he thought to himself, _I'm sure Bellatrix will think of something_. He could always count on her to give an event its due attention, and she would no doubt make it a grand celebration for everyone. Getting to his feet, he was surprised at the lack of pain throughout his body. He hadn't even realized just how hard the toll of leading the Death Eaters had been on him. Of course, being hit with a powerful force of magic didn't make matters any better, but he supposed that was a moot point. He craned his neck every which way that he could, trying his best to get a sense of direction in the dark abyss-

"Hello, Tom."

He froze at the voice that echoed across the empty space. Only one person that he knew of would dare to carelessly use such a name in his presence. Turning around, his eyes meet the form of Dumbledore, who was walking toward him bathed in a soft glow of light. With his hands behind his back and his blue eyes studying him over his spectacles, Dumbledore stopped and they simply watched each other for a moment.

"Dumbledore," Voldemort finally said with a cold smile and slight bow. "Of course, I must show some respect to the dead."

Dumbledore stared at him, apparently unmoved.

"You look as though you were expecting me," Voldemort continued as he straightened up.

"Indeed I was," Dumbledore replied. Voldemort turned around to look behind him. Interestingly enough, the darkness was starting to slightly brighten, as though a light from some obscure location was giving life and shape to the space.

"So, this-" he gestured with a grand sweep around them- "is what lies beyond the world of the living."

"It would seem so." Dumbledore said. Voldemort stalked around, a distant sense of fascination settling upon him. "As I understand it, this expanse looks different to each person that finds themselves here."

"And I suppose," Voldemort said, "That you are curious as to what I see." He swept his hands out in front of him and all around.

"Curious, yes. I have my assumptions, but I won't burden you with them given that we don't have much time."

Voldemort scoffed, and turned back around to face the old man. "Always so conscious of time," he said through a sneer.

"That I am. But I'm not the only one who need be so aware of the clock." A sort of gentle blaze began to burn in his blue eyes. "Time is running out for you, Tom. It has been slipping away from your grasp since you became Lord Voldemort. Every second, every minute, every hour that you've spent in this role has further sealed your final destination."

A bark of a laugh echoed all around them. "Have you come expecting some sort of repentance from me?" Voldemort asked, trying his best to hold back a fit of laughter that threatened to engulf him. Whether dead or alive, some things really never changed when it came to the old wizard.

"No, because I know that you are incapable of such an action. What I am expecting of you now is acceptance – of your fate."

At those words, Voldemort felt himself stiffen.

"The prophecy still stands, Tom-"

"Prophecy," Voldemort hissed. "I have defeated that prophecy, you foolish old man." He stalked close to Dumbledore's face. "The prophecy no longer has power over me. I have broken its influence." He paused. "I am the new hope for the coming generations." Voldemort turned with a sweep and held his hands out. "I am the one that wizards and witches everywhere will look to. No longer will Harry Potter's name be spoken with faith! With his death, I am the most powerful sorcerer in the world!" He spun around. "No man, no wizard, no army can stand against me, for I have won this battle! I have taken the glory that has always belonged to me! I have emerged _victorious_!"

The last word echoed all around the space and Voldemort's harsh breaths gave a pulse to the air around them. His own words seem to create a sort of buzz in him that coarsed at lightning speed through his system. Oh, what could ever match this glorious feeling, this sense of elation at knowing he had won?!

"Only when you awaken, Tom, will you realize the severity of what you've done," Dumbledore said softly, a very distant sound of something unfamiliar in his voice. "You fail to see that consequences are not above even the most powerful."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"It's time that you face the truth of your actions." As Dumbledore spoke, a door that looked very much like the bedroom door from the orphanage appeared. "Once you go through that door and back into the land of the living, you will be defeated and you will not pass this way again." A pause passed in which Dumbledore turned around to walk away. Voldemort also turned, but huffed and whirled back around.

"Answer me this,_ Dumbledore_,_" _he barked at the old wizard's back_._ "If you were so sure that I was to be evil one day, so wise in your assumptions of me, why did you take me from the orphanage? Why not make history pure and clean and be rid of me from the start?"

Dumbledore turned to look over his shoulder. "Quite honestly, Tom…I admit that I made a mistake in taking you. But a part of me was hopeful that maybe you would use your influence for good. I suppose you could say that at one time I…had faith in you."

With those final words, Dumbledore turned and walked away, the light swallowing him up with each step that he took. Voldemort turned back around and slowly reached to turn the knob on the door. Victory lay on the other side – a long awaited title that had been stolen from him by a little baby seventeen years ago. Finally, things were falling into place and realigning to what it once was. He was Lord Voldemort – undefeated, unstoppable…immortal.

The door hadn't even been opened a crack before a force had sucked him back into the world of consciousness...

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**NOTE: This one shot is my (extremely late) answer to the 'Voldemort's Last Chance' challenge issued by Scorp's Favorie Little Ange in The Reviews Lounge Too. The question raised was: if Dumbledore met with Voldemort like he had done with Harry, how would that conversation look?**

**Probably not the best answer to that question, but this is just a theory of mine! At any rate, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!**

**GeorgyannWayson**


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